


Stay

by Vamillepudding



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Shelby Sr is a Dick, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: Arthur Shelby Sr returns. Unlike in the show, he returns at a time when Tommy already has a support net, read: Is dating Alfie.**This is the one thing he cannot tolerate. If Arthur wants to choose their father over Tommy, then that’s fine, but he’s not going to hang around to watch it happen.Tommy swallows hard, and exits the car to pay the bakery a midnight visit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another day, another Peaky Blinders fanfic ! This one was inspired by WhenTommyMetAlfie's as of yet unwritten (but much anticipated) fanfic about Tommy's dad coming back, which I saw on Tumblr and got permission to also write for from the lovely aforementioned author! Thanks again !

Tommy hears him first. The voice sounds just like it always did, muffled through the door but unmistakeable. He’d recognise this voice anywhere. 

For one glorious second, he considers just leaving, just walking away from whatever disaster this unprompted visitor is surely about to bring down on their family. Then common sense settles in, and he opens the door. 

And there he is, Arthur Shelby Sr, sitting in their kitchen having lunch. Ten years have passed since he has last seen his father, and yet it’s as if he’s never left at all. 

He hasn’t even had the good grace to noticeably age, Tommy thinks. A decade is such a long time, surely you’d see the difference – but his father looks just the same as he did the day he left (“stay there, Tommy”) and didn’t come back. 

And Arthur – Arthur, and John and Polly and Finn, they all have the nerve to sit there making amiable fucking conversation, like the past ten – no, cross that, like the past _thirty_ years never happened. 

“Thomas” his father says pleasantly. “It’s good to see you, son.” 

“Get out.” It’s the only thing he can say right now, mind consumed with the sudden need to _get this man out of his house_. 

“I’m a guest of your brother.” Brother, which brother? Must be Arthur, Tommy decides. Arthur was always the most forgiving one. 

Across the room, Polly looks at him. She shakes her head slightly. _Be careful how you pick your fights, boyo_. An advice she first gave him when he was four years old and had just been beaten up by Terry O’Connell from two streets down, a boy two years his senior and a good 20 pounds heavier. In a way, Polly’s message never changed. 

Tommy stares intently at Arthur, who in turn studies the floor intently. Neither of them look at their father, Arthur because he probably feels guilty, Tommy because he can’t stand it. 

It's clear that no one will say anything. They will just treat his father like he’d been gone ten days instead of ten weeks, will pretend that - 

Fine. 

If his father won’t leave, then he will. 

He walks out without looking back.

**

At first he doesn’t know where to go, so he wanders the streets of Birmingham aimlessly. Then it comes to him, and he almost laughs at how obvious it is. 

He needs to see Alfie. 

It’s only been three days since Alfie left for London again, and normally Tommy would wait at least a couple of weeks before his return visit. Can’t have Alfie thinking he’s too desperate, even though he is, or that some nights sleep will not come without that familiar body next to him, even though it won’t. 

Right now though, just the thought of going home at some point today and finding his father there again, having to tolerate him there, making forced conversation – just the thought of all this is enough for him to get into the car immediately. 

He doesn’t bother saying goodbye to his family, or indeed tell anyone where he’s going. They’ll be fine without the car for a few days, he reckons. 

It’s dark by the time he arrives, and the drive has been long enough for some doubts to rear their ugly, but familiar, heads. He’s got half a mind to turn around, just drive all the way straight back to Birmingham. He should just suck it up, should just - 

No. 

This is the one thing he cannot tolerate. If Arthur wants to choose their father over Tommy, then that’s fine, but he’s not going to hang around to watch it happen. 

Tommy swallows hard, and exits the car to pay the bakery a midnight visit. 

Ollie eyes him suspiciously, but still lets him in without a fuss, only checking if he’s armed for good measure. And then suddenly, he’s standing in front of the office, and the doubts are back in place. 

They have left their relationship undefined so far. Tommy knows Alfie likes the things they do in bed, presumably likes him at least a little bit (it’s not hate-fucking. Tommy knows what that feels like, and it’s not like this). But he is still consumed by the perpetual fear of being too clingy, too pathetic, _too much_ , and that one day soon Alfie will realise it and leave. So his solution is to distance himself whenever he can, always drawing the line when possible.   
Usually he draws the line, and then goes back and builds a wall in it’s place. It’s been working out well so far. 

This, he knows, is _not_ distancing himself. If there were ever a definition of not keeping one’s distance, it would surely be this, Tommy visiting Alfie without notice and on a whim. 

Maybe Alfie even had plans, he thinks. Maybe he will tell Tommy to go home. 

He can’t imagine anything more humiliating. 

At some point during this thought process, Ollie has materialised at his side again, awkwardly shuffling his feet. 

“Mr Shelby? Alfie is in there” he says, unnecessarily, like Tommy doesn’t know. 

“Thank you.” 

There is a pause, during which Tommy wonders what Ollie would do if he were to follow his instinct and just go back to his car (would he tell Alfie about this visit? Would he think Tommy was spying or planting a bomb?). Then he realises that he must look ridiculous, standing here motionless for minutes on end. 

He goes in without knocking, because despite it all, he’s still Tommy Shelby, and some things must be done properly. 

Alfie doesn’t look up from his paperwork, because despite it all, he’s still Alfie Solomons, and some things must be done properly. 

Tommy goes to sit down at the desk, and then just spends half a minute waiting for his partner to acknowledge him. When that doesn’t happen, he says, a tad testily: 

“Hello, Alfie.” 

It’s all a power game of course, just like everything is, and this one Tommy just lost spectacularly. Right now, he doesn’t even care, because Alfie finally fixes his eyes on him. 

“Thomas. What brings you here at this late hour? Did Birmingham finally spit out its most handsome citizen because all beauty in that town must either die, whither or leave?” 

“Something like that” Tommy says. He already feels calmer, just by being here in Alfie’s presence, hearing his voice. 

Alfie hums; somehow it’s a beautiful sound. He studies Tommy for another moment. Tommy has the uncomfortable realisation that some kind of decision is being made about him. He’d give anything to know what it is. “Well, don’t just sit there” Alfie says eventually. “Come over here to greet a man properly, eh?” 

As Tommy slides onto Alfie’s lap and opens his mouth to turn a somewhat chaste greeting kiss into something more, he’s glad he didn’t turn around.

**

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, this one ends soon after they have fucked, because Alfie coming down from a high doesn’t make him any less observant. Tommy is leaning against his shoulder, eyes already falling shut, when the dreaded question comes. 

“So what went wrong?” 

“Nothing” Tommy replies immediately. There is no situation in the entire world where he would answer this question truthfully. 

“Don’t bullshit me. You came to me, right, in the middle of the night, looking like you’d just seen a fucking ghost except that ghost had also a gun with which he shot you right in the chest and left you to bleed out on the sidewalk while someone also stole your wallet and pissed on your corpse. So I ask again: What went wrong?” 

“Tomorrow” he promises. It’s a lie, since Tommy doesn’t plan on being here when Alfie wakes up, but Alfie doesn’t need to know that. 

It’s for the best, he reflects. This whole thing definitely counts as being clingy.

At first sleep doesn’t seem to come, until it does, sneaking up on him until he’s caught too off-guard to defend himself from its chokehold. He goes down struggling, but he goes down. And in the morning, he realises that he shouldn’t have underestimated Alfie – because for once he is awake before Tommy, calmly reading the newspaper in the armchair next to the window. The little table next to it holds an assortment of dishes and breakfast items. 

“Morning” Alfie says pleasantly. “You were like fucking Sleeping Beauty, you were. It’s nearly noon already.” 

“You should’ve woken me up.” 

“Nah” Alfie says. “Didn’t have anywhere to be today, did I? Besides, if memory serves right, and mine usually does, then Sleeping Beauty is traditionally woken up by a kiss, and I wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t earn me a punch in the face. You seem the type.” 

“The type to punch people in the face?” Tommy asks, curious despite himself. He’d have thought he seemed like the type to shoot people, or slice their throats open, mostly because he does that sort of thing on a regular basis. He’s never developed a taste for fistfights though, unlike Arthur, and unlike their father - 

Something must show on his face, because Alfie narrows his eyes. “The type to attack people in their sleep” he says, slowly, like his mind has already fixed itself on another topic. “So, what’s the plan? Going back to Birmingham?” 

_No_. 

“Yes.” Tommy is already pulling on his clothes. “I’m needed there.”

He isn’t. It’s an uncomfortable fact that he usually hesitates to acknowledge: His family doesn’t actually need him, not anymore. They used to, back when regular meals and warm clothes were nothing but a foreign concept, something to be distantly dreamed of, nothing else. Tommy’s father, as much as he hates to admit it, used to be quite good at earning cash in less than legal ways. They’d have been well off, if Arthur Shelby Sr hadn’t used most of the money on his whores. But he’d always kept them afloat. 

From the five Shelby siblings, Tommy knew that he was the only one capable of coming up with cons elaborate enough to be of some use. So when his father left, it was Tommy who had to step up. And it was Tommy who had bigger plans, who dreamed bigger than anyone, who just wanted to _make money_. 

To everyone’s surprise but his own, it worked. It all worked. 

He could have stopped there. Could have stopped when everyone in Birmingham knew and feared the name Shelby. When they took over Billy Kimber’s business. When he screwed over Sabini. 

He kept going. He will keep going. Not because of the money. It hasn’t been about that for a long time. 

It’s about how Tommy knows, deep down, that the only reason his family still stands behind him is because they trust him to handle the business. So if he keeps coming up with bigger and better schemes, they won’t leave. Simple as that. 

But they don’t need him any longer. Some day soon, they will all realise it. 

Alfie is still watching him, scratching his beard as though in deep thought. _As though he’s realised Tommy is lying_ , Tommy thinks abruptly, guiltily. 

“You could stay here” Alfie says eventually. “After you came all the way.” Tommy half-expects him to break off into his usual rambling, but instead, there is silence.

The offer has been made, the cards have been laid out, and now it’s Tommy’s move. 

He knows that there is no way he is going home today. His plan had been to just drive around, maybe pay his mother’s people a visit. Staying at Alfie’s for another day or two seems much more appealing though. 

Also, no one has ever asked him to stay. Not once. Historically, his family has found that Tommy’s presence made things easier than the lack of it, but he always got the impression that it was a close call. He tends to make people uneasy. 

And no one ever asked. 

Except Alfie. 

Tommy holds the silence for another moment, carefully adjusting his shirt cuffs. Then he smiles.   



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I feel like this took me ages. I meant to post this last weekend, but college got in the way, but right now I'm running on six cups of coffee as replacement for proper sleep, so enjoy the caffeine-influenced second part of this story !

It takes four days before Alfie says anything. 

This is already longer than Tommy anticipated. He half expected to be kicked out within a few hours. After all, this is the first time they’ve spend more than a night together. Sometimes they meet in the evening and have dinner together, sometimes they extend their meeting until noon, but it’s never more than that. 

For some unfathomable reason though, Alfie has no problem spending the first day of Tommy’s stay entirely at home. And on the next day, he goes to his office, but not before arranging that someone takes Tommy to where Alfie’s men keep the horses for the races. And after that, he tells Tommy to just come to the bakery with him. 

The fourth day though, he doesn’t look at Tommy as he says: “I know why you’re here, mate.” 

Tommy instantly goes cold, a kind of all-encompassing chill that goes much deeper than just his skin. He doesn’t say anything though, just waits. 

“I had some men looking into it, see. Sent Noam and Ben to Birmingham, told them to see if they couldn’t find out why Tommy Shelby has decided to come to London of all places. Can you by any chance guess what they told me?” 

They are sitting in Alfie’s kitchen – Tommy absently wonders why all uncomfortable conversations in his life must always happen in kitchens -, and Alfie finally _has_ looked at him. Immediately, Tommy wishes he hadn’t. There is something about Alfie’s stare that is too much. It always makes him feel like Alfie sees more than Tommy wants him, wants anyone, to see. 

“They said, right, that your home town has been blessed with a visitor, whose last name is of no importance in that all last names are of no importance because it’s all just a social construct, innit it, but this last name is an exception in that it is very important indeed, I dare say, though perhaps only in combination with the first name attached to it.”

Alfie appears faintly smug, which wouldn’t be unusual in itself, if the context of his smugness didn’t make Tommy’s stomach churn. “Arthur Shelby Sr” says Alfie, concluding his speech, and suddenly it’s as if saying the name will summon the man, as if Tommy’s father is about to walk right through that door – otherwise he can’t explain that flash of fear that surges through him hearing Alfie say those words, fear that he didn’t even feel four days ago. Absurdly, it feels like the whole situation has only become real now, 60 miles away, as someone unconnected to the matter has stated the facts Tommy still isn’t quite ready to face. 

“You spied on me” Tommy says, not even angry at this point, just thinking that of course Alfie has spied on him, why wouldn’t he, and of course he’s found out about his father – and now he’s wondering what else Alfie has found out. And if he concentrates on the matter at hand, then maybe he won’t have to think of anything else. “You fucking spied on me.” 

“Yeah, well, didn’t have what you’d call a choice, did I? Men like us can’t afford not knowing. Can go very badly, that.” 

“One day, Alfie” Tommy tells him, calmer than he’s been since his father came back from whatever hell he’d fucked off to, “I’m going to put a bullet through your head for that.” 

Alfie has the nerve to wink at him.

And then this brief diversion from their path is over, and they’re back to where they were: Alfie knowing something Tommy would rather he didn’t, and Tommy unable to handle the situation. 

Perhaps, for once in his life, it’s time for an actual explanation. 

“My father left” he says, ignoring the visible surprise on Alfie’s face at Tommy sharing something from his life. It might be the first time ever that Tommy has said this out loud. 

He could leave it at that. But he doesn’t.

**

One day, Arthur Shelby Sr takes his second-oldest son to the races. It’s the beginning of the end. 

Some nights – the bad ones -, Tommy still remembers that warm afternoon. Remembers it like it was yesterday and dreads it like it’s still to come. 

He’s 18 years old. He has already learned not to trust authority figures. He has also learned not to trust his father in particular, especially when it’s late, and his father comes home drunk, and Tommy knows that this was the money meant for John’s new boots, and Arthur knows too, but Tommy is the only one who can say anything, so he does, consequences be damned. 

Arthur can never quite look at Tommy the next day. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his helplessness against his father. 

It’s the one thing Tommy allows himself to be selfish about. He doesn’t mind speaking up, doesn’t mind taking the blame, and the beatings. But he won’t cover up the evidence just so his big brother will feel better about his lack of action. 

On that day though, it all goes fine at first. In retrospect, Tommy has always felt like he should have known better. Because after the race, Arthur Shelby Sr does something he has never done before: He reaches out to lay a hand on Tommy’s cheek. Tommy flinches back, but quickly catches himself as his father brings their foreheads together. 

“Stay there, Tommy” he tells his son. “I shan’t be gone long.” 

Three hours later, a heavy rain has begun to fall, and Tommy is still waiting. 

It might be the very last time he has ever trusted anyone at all. 

**

“So your father left. Big fucking deal.” 

Tommy feels – he doesn’t know what he feels at hearing these words said so casually. Anger? Hurt? “Excuse me?” he says, pulling back his shoulders slightly in an automatic attempt at dominance. 

“Now, don’t look at me like that. All I’m saying is, as far as I can tell, you managed just fine on your own.” That – that is so far from the truth that Tommy doesn’t know where to _begin_. 

“Within two days, we were out of food. Within a week I’d sucked someone’s cock for money. Within a month we were so down on our luck that I had to _beg_ Polly to handle things.” And he’s never been more ashamed of anything in his entire life. 

“And then what?” Alfie says, his voice taking on a challenging note. “She did, didn’t she? She came back, right, and she handled things, and there you lot all are today, up and about. The Peaky fucking Blinders, pains in everyone’s arses.” 

“It’s not that simple. It’s – what the fuck do you want?” Both Tommy and Alfie turn to glare at Ollie, who entered the room silently. 

“Phone call for you, Mr Shelby” Ollie says, shooting a nervous glance at his boss like he’s not sure if Tommy is allowed to have any phone calls. Alfie waves a many-ringed hand in an unmistakeable gesture of not giving a fuck, so Tommy takes the phone. 

“Yes?” he says, and waits. 

“Hello? I want to speak to Tommy Shelby. If you don’t put me through right now-” his idiot little brother says. Tommy sighs. 

“John, it’s me.” 

“Oh. Right.” There is a pause, and it’s in that moment that Tommy knows with a sense of terrible foreboding that something has happened. John wouldn’t call unless – _how did he know where Tommy was, anyway?_ Tommy thinks, absently, but there is no time to ponder the matter further, because John speaks up again. “Tom, you need to come home. Arthur said not to call you, but – look, just come back, okay?”

When Tommy looks at Alfie, he finds that he’s being watched, and cringes inwardly. John’s words have drained all the blood from his face; he must look like a corpse. 

_Not wrong, that_. 

“Alright” he hears himself say. “Alright, I’ll come.” 

He hangs up, not giving either of them the chance to say anything else. And then it’s just him and Alfie again. “I need to go. I need to –“ But there is no acceptable way to finish that sentence, so he doesn’t. 

He should thank Alfie for his hospitality, but he doesn’t do that, either. 

“I heard” Alfie says. He stands up, gets his cane, gets his hat, gets his coat. Tommy just stares. 

“What” he asks, “are you doing.” 

“I’m coming with you, aren’t I, mate? I reckon that letting you drive in that state is just gonna end up with you dead in a fucking ditch somewhere, and wouldn’t that just be a fucking waste, eh? So I’m thinking to myself, Tommy Shelby isn’t gonna die in a ditch, he’s gonna die stabbed to death by some bastard he cheated. Just helping you get a step closer to that natural progression of destiny.” 

“I can drive” Tommy says. It’s just about the only thing he _can_ say to that. 

“I’m sure you can” Alfie replies easily, only it doesn’t sound like sarcasm, it sounds like he actually means it, which just serves to make the whole situation even weirder. 

Then he does something unexpected: He takes Tommy’s hand and pulls him out of the house. At first Tommy is too taken aback to free himself, but even when he’s regained his composure, he doesn’t let go. This is Alfie’s territory, no one will dare say anything or even look at them strangely for fear of Alfie’s wrath. Just for now, just here, it is perfectly acceptable for two men to hold hands in the street. 

Even with women, Tommy was never much of an affectionate person, let alone with men. Unlike most of his other issues, this one has nothing to do with what he thinks he does or doesn’t deserve, he has just never much enjoyed it. In a way, it’s like showing weakness. Hug someone in public and the world knows one more vulnerability of yours, kiss someone and you’re effectively setting that person up for danger. Possibly death. 

Alfie though. Alfie isn’t a weakness of Tommy’s. If anything, he is a strength. So for once, Tommy enjoys the feel of another, rougher, hand in his, all the way until they arrive at his car.  It’s only when they’re already on the road and Tommy is taking the turn that will lead them to Birmingham that it occurs to him that Alfie never made a fuss about him sitting behind the wheel.

**

They don’t talk much during the car ride. Twice, they stop to take a piss, and it’s after one of those times, after they’re back to driving, that Tommy suddenly says into the silence: “Thanks.” 

He isn’t entirely sure what exactly he’s thanking Alfie for – coming with him, maybe. Being there. Letting him drive. Holding his hand. 

Not leaving. 

“I cannot think of a single reason why you’d go around thanking me, Thomas” Alfie tells him cheerfully. And that is that.

**

Eventually, they arrive, like they were bound to. Tommy still wishes they hadn’t, because now he has to face – whatever. 

“Stay here” he tells Alfie, and says nothing when Alfie gets out of the car. “Let me handle this” he adds, and says nothing when Alfie follows him to the house, his cane hitting the cobblestones with every step an oddly comforting sound. 

He lets himself in and doesn’t wait for Alfie to remove his hat and coat as he makes his way to the kitchen, where he already hears raised voices. 

“I told you I don’t know when he’ll come!” That’s John. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy.” This is from his father. Tommy instinctively winces, and hates himself for it. 

“Tommy will be so mad” someone – Finn – says, and then no one says anything at all, because Tommy enters the room. 

Both John and Finn look vaguely guilty at having been caught talking about him. Arthur Sr just looks pleased, absurdly so. They are the only ones there, no sign of Polly or Arthur. 

Tommy decides to ignore his father for the time being, directing the question only at John when he asks: “What has been happening?” 

“We-“ Here John stops, glancing at their father. Already Tommy feels a headache approaching. 

“You, what?” he prompts. But it’s Finn who answers, Finn who subtly moves out of Arthur Sr’s reach as he does so. It’s been less than a week, and it seems he has already learned that it’s not a good idea to stand too close to their father when making potentially controversial statements. 

“The coppers took Arthur” he says. 

“Okay.” Tommy tells himself that this is alright. He can deal with whatever this is. They have policemen on their payroll. It will be fine. “So Arthur got arrested. Why?” 

The following silence is all the information he needs to know, but he still wants someone, anyone, to acknowledge this. Yet no one will meet his gaze. Only his father stares back at him, daring Tommy to say something. 

It’s Finn who breaks first. They will need to train this tendency to cave under pressure out of him, Tommy thinks. “Dad gave him a package to give someone. Arthur got caught.” 

“A package” Tommy repeats tonelessly. “And what was in that package, dad?” Only after he said it does he realise what, exactly, he has just said – a word he hasn’t spoken in ten years and never wanted to use again. Arthur Sr smiles. He, too, noticed the slipup. And perhaps it’s Tommy’s display of weakness that makes him answer: “What do you think?” 

“Drugs” Tommy says, needing to hear it aloud more than getting confirmation. “You sent Arthur to sell drugs.” 

“Not sell. It was a gift. I owed someone, and-“ Tommy’s fist hits the wall. His entire body is so numb by now that he doesn’t even notice the pain. 

“You’ll never do that again. Is that clear? You’ll never use a member of this family for your own advantage again. Just – go. Get out of this house.” 

His father has stood up. He still hovers over Tommy, still makes Tommy want to take a step back. He doesn’t. 

“And what are you doing, eh? Don’t you think that’s a bit rich, Tommy? You – who the hell are _you_?” Belatedly Tommy realises that Alfie is still there. How long was he listening? 

Alfie comes up to stand next to him, sans hat and coat, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Even without the hat, he’s an imposing figure. 

“Alfie” he starts, about to – what? Tell Alfie to go wait by the car? As if that would ever work. 

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his as of yet undecided request, as Alfie holds up a hand. 

“If I may offer my opinion to throw into this mess: I think Tommy here asked you to leave. And since he, unlike you, lives here, I think you should probably do as he fucking says, mate.” 

“I should, should I?” His father comes even closer, and finally, Tommy does move back, just a little. Until this moment, he didn’t think it was possible for his self-loathing to get any worse, but when Arthur Sr smiles once more, it turns out that he was wrong. It’s made worse by the fact that there are witnesses: Finn will never forget that his big brother was too fucking weak to stand his ground, John will always remember the way Tommy said ‘dad’, and Alfie is never going to respect him again after this is over. 

“I don’t think Tommy really wants me to leave. Do you, boy?” 

“I-“ But Tommy seems to have been robbed of his ability to form coherent sentences. He can handle many things, but not this, not his father invading his space. He can’t help it: He shoots a panicked look to the left. To Alfie. 

Alfie doesn’t miss the hint. 

He neatly positions himself between Tommy and his father. “You need to back the fuck off” he says, slicing his cane through the air for emphasis. 

“Are you fucking him?” Arthur Sr asks, sneering. “Tom’s going to leave you. You get that, right? If you protect him, like you’re trying to do now, he’s gonna run like the wind. My son doesn’t need anyone.” He almost sounds proud. 

Then Alfie punches him right in the face. Tommy watches in dazed fascination as his father goes down. 

Alfie kicks him too, twice in quick succession, before turning around. “Sorry ‘bout that, Thomas. I do hope you got something to mop all this blood up. Can leave nasty stains, that sorta thing.” 

“You would know, I suppose” John says, faintly amused. He’s got his arm around Finn, who stares at the figure on the ground.   
“Nah, I got a housekeeper for this stuff, mate. You – Tommy?” 

Tommy redirects his attention to Alfie. “What?” he asks. Alfie studies him for a second, then says to John: “Can you get the scum out by yourself or do you need a hand?” 

“I’ll be fine. You guys go do – whatever.” 

Alfie apparently decides that this is good enough, because he leads Tommy into the bedroom. On the stairs he takes Tommy’s hand again, the one that wasn’t injured when he hit the wall, which is unnecessary, but appreciated. Maybe, Tommy thinks, they will be alright. But-  

But. 

He waits until they lie on the bed, still fully dressed. Tommy didn’t change because someone might come in. He wonders if Alfie didn’t change because he’s about to leave in a minute. 

“I don’t know how to do this” he says. It’s the second time in less than twelve hours that he’s completely honest with Alfie about something. Is this what a mature relationship feels like? “My – father – was right about that, you know. Part of me wishes you hadn’t hit him. I should have gotten him out of the house the minute he came back. I don’t know why I didn’t.” 

Alfie has started to stroke his beard, like he sometimes does when he’s unsure about something. 

“Was he right about you running?” he asks. “Am I gonna wake up to an empty fucking bed, and never see your handsome face again before I die?” 

Tommy entangles his fingers with Alfie’s, pulling them away from his face. “No” he says simply. It might be a lie. But that’s only a possibility now, no longer a certainty. “I still have to shoot you for spying on me, remember?” 

“I could never forget, Thomas” Alfie says. He looks like he might say something else, but when he does speak, Tommy feels vaguely like he changed his mind about something. “Aren’t you gonna get that idiot brother of yours out of prison?” 

“Tomorrow. A night in the cell will do him some good. Might make him think about not doing stupid things anymore.” Also, he doesn’t feel ready to face Arthur quite just yet. Tomorrow will be good enough. 

Today is almost over, and it was, by all rights, a day that has been both better and worse than a lot of others.

Tomorrow, though, anything might happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback of any kind is much appreciated !

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you thought !


End file.
